Free Mountain Laurel by Donna Clayton

rocky rise, and when she smiled, the sun glinted in her green eyes. They walked another hundred feet and the trees opened up to a large meadow. A lone oak stood in the middle of the expanse of wispy grasses and weeds. The tree's huge gnarled branches dripped with thousands of yellow leaves tinted golden by the sun. They fluttered in endless movement in the light breeze.
    "It's beautiful!" Laurel exclaimed.
    "I spent a lot of time up in that tree as a boy."
    "Looks like a kid-friendly oak."
    While Michael spread the blanket and unloaded the wicker basket, she walked over to the edge of the field where she could see the valley below. Hundreds of swirling colors danced before her. A winding river peeked intermittently from between the foliage of the trees and bushes, the rippling water a deep blue ribbon woven through colorful fabric.
    She was aware of Michael's presence behind her before she felt his hand on her shoulder. Turning her head toward him, she smiled, knowing in her heart she was glad Ginny had made other plans for the day.
    "It's so peaceful."
    "I think so, too," he said. "I come up here whenever I need a little peace and quiet." Looking out over the valley, he added, "I never get bored with this place. Never."
    His gaze returned to her face, his eyes soft, and for a brief instant Laurel was sure he was going to kiss her. But instead, he took her hand and pulled her toward the blanket under the oak.
    "Let's have lunch," he said. He watched her sit cross-legged before he settled himself against the tree trunk. Handing her a glass of white wine, his fingers brushed against her chilled hand.
    "Here, this will warm you up a little."
    "Thanks. Where'd this come from? I didn't pack wine." Her eyebrows knit together as she looked at the clear liquid. Alcohol was something she stayed away from. It always went straight to her head. The only time she had ever argued with her father had been after she'd had a couple of after-dinner drinks.
    "No, I did." He grinned. "I slipped it in the basket when you went to get your sweater."
    Bringing wine for their picnic was sweet of him, and romantic too. And she was chilly. One glass wouldn't kill her. She sipped, the wine warming a path down her throat as she swallowed.
    Over chicken sandwiches and potato salad, she told him a little about herself and her family. Noticing how easy it was to talk to him, she told him how her mother had cut herself off from life, something Laurel rarely spoke about to anyone.
    "So, that's it," he said.
    "That's what?"
    "That's why you treat your sister more like she's your daughter. It's a perfectly natural feeling," he remarked. "Especially if you helped raise her."
    "We have a strange relationship. Since Mom's too sick to act as a parent, I've always tried to guide Ginny. But, believe me, if I get too domineering, she's quick to point out that I'm not the boss of her. Especially now."
    "What do you mean, 'especially now'?"
    She paused a moment. "I'm not really sure. But there are times when Ginny seems angry with all of us. Mom, Dad and particularly me. I've racked my brain trying to figure it out. She's been going out of her way to do things to upset us—running around with a bad crowd, staying out late, drinking. She plays her stereo in the middle of the night so loud that my mattress springs vibrate to the beat of the music."
    Wiping her hands on a napkin, she continued, "It's the drinking that worries me most." Her voice had dropped to a whisper, and a frown creased her forehead as she looked at Michael with troubled eyes. "I don't think my mother could stand it if anything happened to Ginny."
    "What does your father have to say about all of this?" Michael asked.
    "Dad's not home much. He does a lot of traveling, buying merchandise for the shop. That's why Jim's been such a godsend to us. I really needed the help." She brushed her hair back with a swish of her hand. "It was Dad's suggestion that I take Ginny on vacation, to try to find out what's